Jealousy, Turning Saints Into the Sea
by Shiroimono
Summary: Raoul and Christine go out for a carriage ride. Erik doesn't know what happens next. He doesn't want to know. He does want to know. He really, really does. Oneshot, R/C.


6.

Christine doesn't bring it up. Erik doesn't want to bring it up. But he has to. He saw her leave that night, leave at a completely unreasonable hour, and in the company of Monsieur le Vicomte, whom he wanted to believe was a gentleman. Now he does not know if he believes it. He wants to believe in Christine. Believing in anyone is hard.

He knows that if things were even slightly different he wouldn't have known. None of the other singers or dancers lives at the opera house. They live in their own separate houses, some in boarding houses, some even in the houses of patrons. Christine is the only one who lives at the Opera Populaire itself, a favor from Choleti, one of the backstage managers. Usually Erik thinks of this as a blessing—it's the only reason she can be his pupil, after all. But if she lived in another house he wouldn't have seen it, and he wishes he hadn't. He wishes he hadn't.

"Christine?"

"Yes, maestro?"

Her voice is so innocent. Her eyes as well. She has always been a child to him—in some ways at least—and he should not be asking her about this, he should not be asking her about this, he should not but he is going to.

"You were out very late with Monsieur le Vicomte last night."

She laughs. But she speaks hesitantly. "I suppose we did stay out later than I intended. But the opera ran late, you know. And it was the first time he asked to take me for a ride."

He nods.

"I got plenty of sleep," she says.

"That is good. A prima donna must watch her health." He stares at the wall behind her. "I hope Monsieur le Vicomte behaved himself?"

"Behaved—oh! Oh, of course he did. We only talked, you know, and rode together. It was rather lovely on the streets at night. The moon…" She trails off. She must see that he is frowning.

He says, "I only ask because he has a reputation. His whole family has a reputation. Take his brother Philippe…"

"Raoul is a perfect gentleman," she says. "I have known him since we were children, you know. He would never do anything improper."

Her eyes are wide. She never lies to him.

He believes her. Maybe.

* * *

4.

The opera runs until ten o'clock that night. Christine is at her best. She is singing the part of Siebel in Faust. It is not the best role—she has played Marguerite before, and she always excels at it—but she still brings to it all the mastery that Erik has taught her, and she still garners much applause. Only La Carlotta is applauded more. And one day, Erik is sure, Christine will be the queen of the opera house just as Erik is king. It is only a matter of time.

She speaks to her admirers afterwards. At length. She is given gifts, flowers mostly and cards that include invitations to events or dinners or parties, some more respectable than others. Erik will go through them with her later and they will sort the gentlemen from the knaves. He must sculpt an honest, honorable life for her, one pure from the kind of immorality of some of these patrons. She must not be infected by that sort of corruption.

At eleven o'clock, there is only one patron left. It is Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny. As usual. He always lingers to speak to her so that he may get her alone, or at least obtain some semblance of privacy. They are never really alone. The managers and the backstage workers and the dancers all lurk around corners, to say nothing of Erik himself. He watches them closely. Christine favors Monsieur le Vicomte, and she has reason, but Erik cannot approve of the man so readily. So he watches. For what, he cannot say.

Tonight their conversation is as normal. The Vicomte compliments the opera. He compliments her performance as Siebel. He compliments her appearance in costume—at which she blushes, for her costume is a man's, with her hair neatly tied out of the way and her legs only covered by stockings and knee length trousers. He laughs at her blushing, and she tells him he should not laugh, and he apologizes, and things are very much as they always are, the rhythm of a couple in love undisturbed.

She says she must change and then she must get to bed.

He says, "But we have barely talked." And it is true. In the past week the two have not seen each other much. Christine has been busy, and the Vicomte has been frustrated.

She says, "They will be turning off the lights soon."

"Do you want to go for a ride?"

She stares at him for a moment. Erik stares too, from his vantage point behind a wall. The Vicomte has never asked her out for a ride before except to opera house events. And it's clear he's aware that he's crossing a line, especially at this time of night—He's turning redder than Christine did earlier. He put his arms behind his back. "We don't have to if you don't want to."

Of course Christine can't want to. It's improper.

"No! No, I mean yes. I'd love to." She smiles. And then she shuffles closer to the Vicomte and pecks him on the cheek. "Just wait for me to change into something more comfortable."

"I'll wait," the Vicomte promises. And he does. He stands in the hall. Erik watches him because it's easier than going the roundabout way to Christine's room and besides, she's changing. He can't intrude.

He should tell Christine not to go out this late. It's dangerous. It's not really right. He should tell Christine not to go out this late, but something stops him and he doesn't.

A few minutes later Christine emerges, having changed unusually fast. She takes the Vicomte's hand and they head out into the night.

Erik watches from a window as the carriage drives away.

* * *

5 (maybe).

They are out of Erik's sight within minutes.

Christine has been aware of Erik watching her when talking to Raoul in the past. It shows in the tension of her body. And sometimes she will even glance off into the corners, seeking out his hidden gaze. Now she is away from him. So she probably relaxes, leaning against the back of her seat. Raoul is still leaned forward. He has to drive the horses. He has to concentrate.

"What have you been doing lately?" she asks him.

"Me? Oh you know I don't do anything much." He used to talk about getting a naval commission. He said Philippe wanted him to. Now he doesn't talk about that anymore—Erik watched his interest in it decline as his interest in Christine grew.

He searches for something to say. "I went to a dinner the other night. But it's always the same. Your opera is what keeps me going through the week."

She says, "I wish you'd tell me something about you, though. We talk about me so much. I hardly know how your life is lately. How is your brother?"

"He's about the same as always. Very healthy."

"Is he still seeing La Sorelli?"

Everyone knows that Philippe is having an affair, but it's not the sort of thing you talk about with the woman you're courting. Erik would cut off that sort of talk immediately. But this is Raoul. He is used to his brother's behavior and encourages Christine's frankness. It matches his own honesty. So perhaps he says, "Yes, more often than ever lately."

(Which Erik knows to be true. Philippe has been constantly picking La Sorelli up after performances. That's the kind of thing loose women go for. Not women like Christine, not good, virtuous…)

"They seem to be happy lately."

"She's good for him. He lets off tension." He considers his words carefully, wondering what he should say to Christine and what he should not. "He and I have not been getting along lately."

Because of Christine. Everyone knows it. Philippe doesn't like Christine, or he doesn't like the way Raoul likes her. It's one reason Erik doesn't completely approve of Raoul and Christine together—he hates the way the rest of the de Chagny family treats her.

"I don't want to cause you to argue."

"No. It's not your fault."

"It is my fault. I'm sorry."

"I love you."

The words fall from his mouth much too easily, much too quickly, words he has not said before but that he has been holding back. They have shown from his eyes before, slipped out in his tone of voice. And now he has said them plainly, and she is a little bit surprised. But only a little because she had a premonition about this carriage ride. Why else would she go with him? She knew something would happen.

They pull over to the side of the road, making the horses stand still.

She says, "I am glad that you love me, Raoul. I rather thought you did."

He nods. He waits.

"I…" She cannot make the words come out. They are not so easy for her. Impulsively she leans over to him and kisses him on the lips, staying there longer than she has before. He reciprocates, surprised but willing. They kiss, and they kiss again, and they kiss again and again and again and…

Maybe the only boundaries they cross that night are verbal. Kissing is a scandalous thing for a lady but not so much for an opera girl. Maybe that's where it stops. Maybe the glow on Christine's cheeks is from Raoul's confession, from wondering what they might do in the future together, from anticipation.

If Raoul said he loves Christine, is that good? Is that something Erik can allow? Is that something he has the power to forbid?

* * *

2.

Christine first mentions Raoul to Erik when the two have already reunited. She brings him up without Erik prompting her. He is not so curious that he would have otherwise asked.

"Do you know Monsieur le Vicomte de Chagny?"

"No. I have heard of him. And of Monsieur le Comte, of course." And he saw the Vicomte with Christine just the other day, too, so there's that.

"I know him," she says.

"You met him the other day, you mean."

"No. Well, I did see him the other day. It was for the first time in a while. But I knew him when we were both very young. We were friends back then, you see."

"Indeed." He did not see. Christine is the daughter of a violinist, the Vicomte the son of an honorable house. What was she—a serving girl to him? No, she used to live in Sweden. She's told him that much about her childhood. It makes no sense.

She tells him the details of their history later. Today she is only excited about seeing him again. "And he has grown up to be very different! He used to be so gangly, very thin…he looks quite manly now, though he still has sort of a soft face. He's very good looking, don't you think?"

"I am not a proper judge of men's looks." Being hideous, he always figured he could count any man with a whole face and body the equivalent of an angel. Admittedly, some men look better than others. Admittedly, the Vicomte looks better than a number of men. But that shouldn't matter to Christine, certainly, who is not so shallow that she should care about such matters.

"Well, a lot of girls around the opera house say he's good looking."

"Well, perhaps he's given them cause to talk," Erik says. He smiles sardonically. "I think the best course of action regarding Monsieur de Chagny is to keep your distance."

"Maestro! He's a good friend. I could never be that rude. And I know what you're insinuating."

"I'm sorry. I did not mean to insult your friend."

"He's a man of honor. And I do not think he throws himself at women." She hesitates, then says, "When I knew him, we used to talk about true love. We both believed that such a thing could be."

"I would not talk to him about love now. Remember, he's not a little boy. He's a man—and a man of means, which is worse. Men like that…"

"He's not a man like that, he's Raoul. You're being ridiculous."

Already she doesn't want to listen to him.

* * *

7.

The Vicomte comes to the opera house after rehearsal the next day. He talks to the backstage workers—enough of a regular to be familiar with some—and, when Christine emerges, goes to her immediately.

Christine is pleased to see him, that much is clear. Her eyes light up. She embraces him strongly, firmly, with a surety Erik has not seen in her before. He kisses the top of her head—demeaning really, Erik thinks she ought to slap him for that, get him to back off. He treats her like a child. Tell him to stop, he wants to say. Tell him to cut it out.

"I wondered if you might come today," she says.

The Vicomte says, "I missed you."

Two days and he says he's missed her. The boy is ridiculous.

The two of them find a bench to sit down on, and she leans against him, pressing the length of her side against his body, her leg up against his leg. She didn't wear a costume for rehearsal, so she's free to talk without running off to change.

And the two of them do talk. In low voices, practically whispering in each other's ears. Erik can only see them from a vantage point some distance away and he can't hear a thing they're saying. Maybe Christine knows that and that's why she chose that bench. No, that's stupid. She doesn't know his passages.

But she does have a certain smugness, a certain surety to her body language as she speaks to the Vicomte. She lets him put his arm around her waist. And then she hurries off to her room.

Erik gets there before her this time. He is waiting when she comes in. "You're going out with him," he says.

"Yes, he asked me to have dinner with him. I haven't had much fun lately…"

"You saw him just the other night."

"Well, I would like to see him again. And getting dinner is always good. He pays, you know, so I can get something nice. You know I don't have much money."

"Men will pay anything to get what they want…"

"Maestro."

It was the first time she had spoken his title with such a clipped tone. Usually it came out as a term of respect. Now, it sounded like a warning. She looked up at him with a grave expression. "I appreciate your worries, but I know what I'm doing."

And so she leaves with de Chagny in the carriage as before. This time Erik is not content to sit and wait at home or watch out a window. He tails them on a horse, cloak and hat covering his face as much as possible. But somehow on the busy streets he loses them, finds that he has been following the wrong carriage for a couple blocks. Is that an accident? Or was he spotted? Is de Chagny clever enough to dodge a tail? If he isn't, Christine is a clever girl but she doesn't know her way around Paris that well. So maybe it is an accident. But now he has no way to know where they are going to dinner, if they are even going to dinner, if it's not a cover for something else.

He heads home, swearing he'll have de Chagny's head if Christine is home late.

* * *

5 (maybe).

Christine and Raoul drive in silence for a couple of blocks. Neither of them are thinking about Erik—Christine hasn't been thinking about him all day. They are thinking about something very different.

Raoul says, "I thought you might come by my house."

He says it without looking at Christine, his face more serious than usual. A poker face. He is concentrating on the horses, which are indeed driving in the direction of his house, though it will be a while before they get there.

Christine glances over at him and then stares at the road as well. "I'm sorry. I don't think that's a good idea."

Raoul's hands on the reins of the horses are shaky. He thinks he has crossed his bounds. "Of course, then, we can just drive. I only thought I might show you around…Really I didn't mean…"

"Your family doesn't like me," Christine says.

"Well, they really…It's just that…"

"Wouldn't an inn be better?"

Raoul stiffens. He looks at her slowly, carefully. "It's a bit late to get dinner." He needs to give her a way out.

She doesn't take it.

"I thought we might get a room for the night," she says. Her hands are trembling too now, but they are folded in her lap and he doesn't notice. "That's something patrons of the opera house do sometimes, isn't it?"

Raoul wets his lips. "It's a little crude."

"Maybe I am crude. I'm just an opera girl after all." She touches his leg. "Have you gotten a room with a girl before?"

Erik knows she's wondered. He's seen her watching Raoul with the other girls before. Always hesitant to join their friendly conversations, always a little on edge. Erik also knows that if Raoul has had an affair he's more discreet than most. The rumors about Christine are the first that have ever spread that concern him.

So maybe Raoul says he never has. And maybe he tells Christine she's not just an opera girl to him. But they've come this far and he is determined to go farther—why else would he take a girl out so late at night?

He tells her, "My brother is out tonight."

He tells her, "My sisters and mother will be asleep."

He tells her, "The servants won't talk."

So they end up in his bedroom maybe half an hour later, both of them nervous, neither of them willing to talk about what they're about to do. They take off their own clothes in separate corners of the room. Maybe Christine thinks of Erik now, and how he told her to be careful of impropriety, be careful that no one takes advantage. But it doesn't feel like Raoul is taking advantage. Christine has chosen this. She pulls off her shift. It feels like freedom.

She turns and Raoul has not yet finished undressing. He is still facing the wall as he tugs at his undershirt. She watches him disrobe even though he afforded her modesty. He turns and they are both naked in the dark.

It is a little funny. They used to laugh about grown ups doing things like this when they were children. Raoul has a man's body now, and it is smooth and whole. Christine walks over to him and puts her hands on his chest.

She tells him, "I've never done this before."

She tells him, "I'm glad we're doing this together."

He pulls her over to the bed and they both lie down. They smile at each other. He tells her he's never done this before either, and maybe that's the truth. He tells her he's sure they can figure it out.

* * *

3.

Christine has described the Vicomte to Erik so flatteringly! But of course she is a biased source. Erik does his own research. Finds out how the Vicomte behaves around his family, how he talks to the other performers. The Vicomte's history, his background. Clean of scandals, though that doesn't mean clean of sin. It only means sometimes gentlemen know how to keep their mouths shut.

Erik knows he has to watch the Vicomte carefully, decipher the man's nature on his own.

So he does. He sees how the Vicomte reacts to opera performances. He is a man who appreciates art, though not an artist himself. That's good in the eyes of the upper class—a Vicomte really shouldn't be an artist, especially not a performer. That's for the riffraff. Riffraff like Carlotta. Riffraff like Christine.

The Vicomte admires Christine's performances, that much is clear. But he is happier to see her in person than to see her onstage. He is not a patron. He is a friend, and a dear one. And he is very obviously in love.

Love, Erik thinks, makes all men beautiful—all men except Erik. The Vicomte blossoms and flourishes. He becomes more eloquent in Christine's presence, and more artful and even more kind. Love, Erik knows, is never entirely pure. There is adoration and then there is the desire to possess. The first is obvious in the Vicomte. The second is bound to follow.

* * *

0.

And this is something Erik has to consider: Raoul has a huge advantage. He knew Christine when they were young.

Christine has told it to him a hundred times. It is a beautiful story. She is on the beach, even though it is mid-Autumn, playing around in the sand. She is a young thing but still must spend many of her hours working, her mother being dead. But she likes to build castles (even if they're more like mounds) or on occasion simply take a walk. The sea's rhythms are music, different from her father's but still beautiful. They call to her.

And on this particular day she loses her scarf.

She thinks it is gone forever. And then she sees a streak of white shirt and brown trousers running straight into the water, not bothering to unclothe and unhesitant in the face of the waves. The waves knock him over at least twice before he manages to swim out. The red scarf has floated out over his head but he gets it and he brings it back. And when he returns to the sand, she has come over to wait for him.

His clothes are drenched and his teeth are chattering. It is much too cold for a boy to be out swimming in the wild waves. He at least took off his shoes before plunging in, but nothing else. She wonders what his parents will think—her father would scold her for being so reckless. But he does not complain. He only hands her the soaked scarf and grins and says it is no problem and he is glad to meet her.

She brings him back to her house for a change of clothes.

After that, they are fast friends. Her father teaches him how to play the violin, and he is rather bad at it, but he tries and she knows, though she pretends she doesn't, that the main reason he tries is because he wants to impress her. Just like he wanted to impress her that day at the beach. He doesn't need to impress her but she lets him anyhow. It's fun and a little flattering. And of course she's well aware that she impresses him all the time. She is good at singing, good at telling stories. She is good at hiding when they play hide and seek, good at running when they play tag. She is good at a lot of things and she sometimes worries he will hold it against her but he never does. It only makes him try harder to keep up.

Over time he learns all her stories. His childhood, which started out so very differently, has merged with hers. They know everything about each other now. Parts that Erik will never know, not because they are secret, but simply because from a distance they seem irrelevant. Christine will never think to tell him.

And that is why he thinks that…

* * *

5 (maybe).

"I love you," Christine blurts out.

They are only a minute or so away from the opera house, still in the carriage. Raoul, startled, pulls the horses to a halt. He stares at her. "What?"

"I love you," Christine says. She bites her lip, then forces a bright smile. "I've been wondering when I should say it but there's never really a right time. So I said it. Do you love me?"

Raoul laughs, breathless, eyes wide. "But Christine, you know I do."

"Yes," Christine says. "I know."

Is that better than if they have sex? Well, the two aren't mutually exclusive. That's the problem. Maybe then they drive off into the woods and lie down on the grass and, well, have at it. Maybe it's not even the first time! According to Christine, her last summer with Raoul was when they were both around fourteen, and they saw each other once in the interim when they were both twenty. Knowing Christine, and knowing Raoul to an extent, it's not exactly likely. But it's possible.

This is the least of it: Raoul and Christine have a very pleasant evening. Emotionally touching, physically stimulating—who knows. Either way Christine and Raoul will want what they want. Sooner or later they're bound to get it. It's a matter of time and Erik isn't delusional, he isn't obsessing, he just knows how to observe and he knows that the Vicomte is trouble. He will corrupt Christine, turn her away from music and then break her. By malice, by carelessness, it doesn't matter. Mistresses and lovers and even wives will never sing with the same unadulterated sweetness as virgins dedicated to the art. And it has nothing to do with what Erik wants. This is about what is right for Christine. And Raoul…isn't.

* * *

8.

Tonight Christine sleeps soundly in the opera house. Tonight she is safe, well guarded from the corruptions of the world. Tonight there will be no love making, nor even talk of love. Christine rests in preparation for a performance tomorrow, dutiful as she ought to be, dutiful as Erik wants to believe she always will be.

And tonight Erik is at the de Chagny estate.

He scales the gate, scales the wall even with equal ease. It's not exactly a fortress. This isn't even the first time he's been here. Nor is it the first time he has crept up to Raoul's bedroom, let himself silently in through the window, and observed Raoul in bed.

It is not, perhaps, a socially acceptable habit but it is one he has acquired nonetheless, and it reassures him to see Raoul in bed alone. He is terrible for Christine but at least he has no other mistress. And when he sleeps he has no artful grace, no seduction in his eyes. He is harmless. He is a man as any other. More beautiful, more rich, yet still a man.

Erik hisses, "What does she see in you?"

He gazes about the room as he has before. There is a painting on the wall, a landscape of a seaside. Maybe it makes Raoul think of Sweden, though by the title inscribed on the frame it is of the coast of Spain. There are flowers in a vase on the bureau, a simple bouquet. They add fragrance to the room.

Is this what Christine smelled the other night, as Raoul drew her into his sheets? In this bed did she wind herself around this body, now limp with slumber? Did she caress it? And did she cry at a loss of innocence or did she laugh with pleasure, the way whores do, the way Carlotta does when she speaks with her special patrons—could Christine ever be so coarse? Did she smell the flowers? Did she look at the painting?

Was she here at all?

Erik is almost certain she was here. He thinks that if he had a keener nose he would smell the scent of her perfume lingering beneath the flowers. He could, were Raoul not in the way, inspect the pillows and find long blonde hairs. It is too dark to find them now, but in the daylight. Then he would be certain. And then…

Then he would have to kill this man.

Raoul lies sleeping. Erik stands at his side. He touches Raoul's shoulder. Raoul mutters something slurred—Erik thinks it could translate possibly to "Christine."

So what if it does? Christine has never spent an entire night beside him. He cannot expect her to be at his side. Does he speak her name because he dreams of her? If he dreams of her, can his dreams be innocent?

There are easy ways to kill someone in their sleep. Strangulation, suffocation, blunt force trauma…the list goes on, even without the use of a weapon. If Raoul dies tonight, Christine will be broken hearted. And she may very well guess where to lay the blame. Erik can't risk her deciding to leave the opera house. She can't live without music, of that he is certain. That he can't live without her goes without saying.

But he also knows that he can't be happy as long as things continue the way they are now. Raoul is the only thing in Christine's way. Removing him would be kindness. Kindness! Erik loves Christine. Can't he do just this one thing for her? This one, simple little thing?

Raoul turns his head, rolling it onto Erik's hand which still rests on his shoulder.

Erik twitches.

Raoul nuzzles at his hand, muttering something indistinguishable.

Erik jerks his hand away. He expects Raoul to wake up, and he's ready to fight as soon as he does, but Raoul only grunts and realigns his head on the pillow.

Erik has a couple of his hairs stuck between his fingers.

So? Kill a man like this? His stomach is sick. If Christine fell into this bed, she must have been happy there. Raoul's skin is warm, and in his sleep he is slightly smiling. He is as oblivious to his danger now as he is to the danger in which he places Christine, danger of scandal, danger of ruin. You can still blame a man for that kind of obliviousness. It is a man's responsibility to protect.

Erik isn't sure how to protect Christine anymore. But if he sees Raoul tomorrow at the opera house, he knows Raoul will no longer look so innocent. Maybe he'll finally get the guts to do what he really ought to do.

* * *

1.

Erik is watching through a peephole as Christine greets her patrons. A new one comes forward this time—new to Christine, Erik thinks, though he has been about the opera house before. But he greets Christine with enthusiasm and familiarity, and she returns his greeting with more affection than she has shown any other before.

She pulls him aside. As Erik watches, she accepts a bouquet from him. The rest of her patrons she has told to sent their gifts to her room. But she sniffs at the flowers and blushes as she looks up again at this new man. The Vicomte de Chagny, Erik remembers now. Not the best family or the worst. Unremarkable—but Christine looks at him as if he were a king.

She leans forward and, without prompting, drops a gentle kiss on the Vicomte's lips. He does not seem surprised by this. He accepts it as his due.

It is brief. And now they are only talking.

Erik's head is roaring. Calm down, he tells himself. No need to jump to conclusions, no need to worry. Not yet. It's only a kiss. It's only a kiss.

* * *

AN: This fic is not my usual. Oddly the first reason for that is that usually I would first post to AO3 and then here a bit later-but AO3 is not working so well on my computer so for now this is here. Other than that:

A couple days ago someone asked me what I would do with a "Mr. Brightside" AU for Phantom of the Opera. I really only thought a song like that would work for a oneshot, not a whole AU. So now there's this. The main thing that interested me about the song is how the narrator says time and time again that "it's all in my head". So here Erik is telling the story as he sees it...but what's actually going on is a decent question. Whatever it is, it's probably none of Erik's business!

I also just like messing around with chronology.

Also, you can picture any Erik-Christine-Raoul combo for this fic, but I was very much picturing the trio from the 1990 miniseries featuring Charles Dance. I think some details filter through from that, but enough are off that I thought I'd mention it. Reason being that Charles Dance is probably the only Erik chill enough to not commit murder INSTANTLY if he thought Christine and Raoul were having sex, and also Teri Polo and Adam Storke are a fun couple. Especially Teri Polo. But like I said, cast who you will...only they might not seem entirely in character.

Reviews would be much appreciated.


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